After Mark 14, in a Season of Pandemic
I will do anything but another shift,
I will do anything but take another temperature,
I will do anything but grieve another death.
Remove this cup from me.
I can't stomach the long lines outside,
Their faces worn out with worry and disbelief.
I can't face my beloved after another day of this,
I won't bring this madness home to her.
Remove this cup from me.
I see it now for what it is:
A life of losses, hands on fragile flesh,
Sometimes, the dead.
Can this be mine: my life, my service, my gift?
Remove this cup from me.
And yet I pull the oft-used mask over my head.
And now I look to the list on the wall,
Strange names, room numbers, like biblical texts.
I see colleagues all about me,
Sisters, brothers, and all are doing the same.
So I do what I can, I do what I must
For neighbors I will never see again.
What a strange communion this!
This breaking of bodies, this virus and blood
Everywhere, and all of us afraid.
Together.
Do this?
On my knees, in this curtained confessional,
Holding another limp and tired hand, I pray.
I pray with all my broken conflicted human heart.
What you want, I seek, I desire.
What you want, I pray, I need.
What you want, I do, though I cannot
See where all this sickness and sadness
Leads us, what it will do to us,
Whether we'll survive it at all.
DGJ
Dover, NH
3-26-20
